To Return to the Chamber of Secrets
by Gin's Comettail
Summary: Ginny/Tom: Harry Potter, leader of the Light. The Chosen One, prophesied to save everyone. But where is the prophecy, when his fiancee escapes to Voldemort's Court-and defects? Among such horrible, vile characters-why, anything could happen to her!
1. Chapter 1

Interruption:

The creature begging for favors before him sniveled and whimpered. It capered about in elaborate delusions of grandeur, then scampered away in idiotic awe of him. He really and truly wanted to kick it.

It droned on nonetheless, nearly panting with sycophantic rapture. "…so, Dread Lord, you see that with a force of your most loyal servants, backed by enough money," (his money being his only _steadfast_ supporter, the dry thought occurred to the Lord,) "We can probably capture at least Shacklebolt, and quite possibly take out three Aurors with him! It would be a stunning blow, your Lordship, a true –"

"Malfoy." The babbling ceased immediately as Lord Voldemort cut him off. "You will transfer the appropriate funds to Borgins for our use. Not from your Gringotts account – by all means, leave that one for show. Let's say… from that untraceable Swiss account. Sapphires and garnets are such excellent ways to store one's wealth…"

He smiled broadly when Malfoy let out a squeak, taking it for acquiescence. "The court thanks you for your generosity." The Dark Lord's expansive gesture took in the grim room, with stone walls and smoky torches whose light barely touched on the black robes of the wizards assembled along the walls. One robe, however, subtly drew his eye. His grin became a fraction broader.

"Clearly, Malfoy, these settings have inspired you to great heights of fiendishness. The Court has no desire to interrupt such a productive streak on your part—we need all the fiendish plotting we can muster." A heartbeat's pause after the token compliment, then, "Snape."

The man unfolded himself from his artful slump along the wall. He had, the Dark Lord noted, chosen a spot quite close to the dais on which Voldemort's chair was placed, but in a nook, so none of the other ambitious, jealous Death Eaters would notice his proximity… very subtle indeed.

None of the annoyance he must have been feeling at the sudden attention showed on Snape's bland expression, either. "My Lord. How may I further serve you?" The slight emphasis on 'further' was fairly unsubtle – few were pleased that Snape's murder of Dumbledore had landed him so much of the Dark Lord's favor and trust.

The Dark Lord ignored the loaded question. "What a subtle agent we have here… perfect for leading a group to complete the task you've outlined, Malfoy."

Lucius made a choking noise. Voldemort cocked his head – would the man turn any amusing colors? – No such luck.

Regardless, the Dark Lord infused his next words with a snap: "While I'm sure that was a sound of agreement, in case there was any notion on your part of designing a task specifically so you could lead it in a quest for glory…" Wicked smiles appeared on the faces of the old guard of the Court, who had witnessed Malfoy's many past attempts to do just that "…Let me condescend to explain why. Your mission calls for violence, but also subtlety. Violence, you have in spades, Malfoy, but Snape has, of late, proven himself capable of bloodshed. Subtlety, though… look at the man. Can any of you even pick out what it is in his style of dress that has such a compelling effect on an observer?"

From the looks on Rookwood and Nott's faces, they recognized it. The Dark Lord motioned Snape forward, and with a sour look on his face, Snape stood at the front of the dais, before the entire Court. "Note the tint of his robes – just a hint of blue, and he appears untouched by the gloom around us, while the rest of the Court looks dark and drab." Voldemort, of course, looked nothing of the sort, but his silky, vibrant green robes did not fight off the oppressive murkiness with the same minimalist efficiency as well as Snape's blue-black.

Snape, sarcastically helpful, lifted his arms and spun in a full circle for the room. The Dark Lord proffered the necessary two claps of the hand. "Very nice, Severus. We all admire your fashion sense."

Now that Snape was finally reinstated into the Death Eaters, Voldemort was pleased to have a wit around. Something like a court jester (– though, never a disrespectful one, the Dark Lord made sure of that.) Now, Malfoy – Malfoy was only amusing in his idiotic tendencies, and those were too much of a danger to the Court to be laughed off. Which was why the Dark Lord repressed Lucius's ambitions at every turn. While the Dark Lord waited for the man's ambitions to catch up with him and kill him, the pressure made him struggle, and produce, admittedly, fairly brilliant plans such as this latest. Too bad the man was such a snake – no, a rat, Voldemort corrected himself, thinking of loyal Nagini. Though she liked rats, herself – she'd made quite a production of eating Wormtail, last month, to all appearances, genuinely enjoying the meal.

The Dark Lord liked to follow his serpent's example. Time, then, to begin toying with Lucius. "Well, Severus," he addressed the sallow man, who still had a mocking smirk on his face, "Malfoy has laid out for us the bare bones of a plan… how do you propose to flesh it out?" Snape nodded towards the Dark Lord and proceeded to the center of the room, accepting the delegation of leadership with poise and deference in equal measure.

"Though Lucius emphasizes the importance of money in this venture of his, we must also consider resources that connot be bought. Since his defection to us two years ago, Mr. Ollivander has provided us with profiles of Order members and their magical strengths and weaknesses." He extended a hand towards Ollivander, whose eyes glittered as he nodded acknowledgment.

"Therefore we already know that Shacklebolt has a strong command of nonverbal spells, but very little speed in casting compared to most Aurors. He was an indifferent potions maker in school, I might add, which clearly indicates a lack of subtlety." With a more elaborate hand gesture towards the throne, Snape added, "A blindness, I presume, out Master expects I may best exploit." Voldemort allowed a small smile to his servant and waited for him to continue.

Suddenly, the heavy gold ring around his middle finger tightened for an instant. He was careful not to react – a frown, or worse, getting up to leave in the middle of Snape's scheming would worry the man, and perhaps encourage Lucius to try that latest scheme to oust Snape from favor. He stayed completely expressionless, and as Snape outlined a particularly complex logistical snag, he lowered his eyes slightly and readjusted his hands on the arms of the throne chair, allowing the tip of the finger bearing the ring to barely graze the surface of the glass of water on the table next to him.

The ring channeled his security wards, and the water provided all the elemental power he needed to scry. Instantly, images played across his half-closed eyelids. A broomstick-mounted rider was zooming in on the base, quite rapidly judging by the play of robes across the rider's body – the wind changed direction slightly, and Voldemort could see the curves of a witch.

She had remarkable speed. In fact, she was about three seconds from hitting the—no, at that very instant she angled sharply downwards, landing just before the point where the no-fly barrier began. Dismounting, the witch abandoned her broom and continued on foot. Shortly, four Death Eater guards Apparated around her. She hit the ground to dodge their curses, and lying on her back, hit them in quick succession with stunners. No, the Dark Lord corrected himself when they failed to fall to the ground, she'd used a full body bind. They were stranded uncomfortably in attack positions, perfectly aware of this humiliation.

How intriguingly callous of this intruder. He was able to rule out some of his more sanctimonious enemies from the list of possibilities, then. He watched the witch running up the hilly approach to the fortress. Two Dementors swooped down on the woman. She didn't even flinch, just flicked her wand to banish the pair of ghouls. Her Patronus disappeared too quickly to be helpful in identifying her. The Dark Lord was increasingly interested. Would she make it through the entrance into the base?

She came pelting up to it, pressed her hand on the door, and was able to swing it open easily! Ah, that was why, she had already cut her palm with the knife in her other hand, a neat little gash considering she'd done it on the run. Now, had she learned the trick to the door from Potter? Well. That would narrow down the list a great deal. In fact, the only witch close to Potter, so skilled at fighting, and yet potentially up to a dirty trick like the one she'd pulled… Lord Voldemort sat up, waving Snape to silence.

Wisely, the man dropped to his knee, head bowed, ready to face the displeasure of his master. The Dark Lord repressed the urge to glare down his nose, knit his eyebrows together in apparent fury, or otherwise toy with Severus in response to the obsequiousness of his display. He instead smiled. "No need to worry, Severus. Get off the floor and dust off those lovely robes of yours. We're about to receive… company." Every time he blinked, he caught another flash of the girl: dueling his guards, racing down a corridor, blasting a stubborn door out of the way, headed unerringly for his throne room.

Just as Snape rose, the door burst open. "Dread Lord, there–!" A cry, quickly choked off in a green flash, interrupted the announcement of the head guard who had just entered.

The Dark Lord permitted a small moue of a pout to cross his lips. "Now, Avery, I do not recall announcing that our guest was to be killed. She is most certainly preferable alive." Around the room, there was a swish of fabric as each of his men re-pocketed their drawn wands. "As for the guard, he was pathetically slow in his duties. But since you killed him, Avery, the responsibility of finding his replacement falls to you."

Avery bowed deeply. "I will do my best, Lord."

"Indeed." The Dark Lord said. He let the silence sit for a moment, then murmured, "Now let us see what we have here."

On cue the doors burst open again, but this time not one of the figures lining the wall twitched as the girl staggered to the front of the room and collapsed, prostrate on the floor before Voldemort's throne. After waiting a second to be sure she was not about to be killed for her entry, she raised her head, and let down her hood. The torchlight made her hair look rust-colored and her palm looked black with blood – in a quick jerking motion, she flicked it, intentionally scattering drops on the floor. She blurted in a frantic, broken way: "I beg sanctuary from Lord Voldemort. I reject my membership in the Order of the Phoenix and I swear allegiance to the Dark Court and the Death Eaters. I throw myself on your mercy."

An eerie silence reigned. After a morning of precisely planned politicking and smoothly executed manipulations, Lord Voldemort was astounded that it was, indeed, Ginny Weasley in his Court, with the intent, no less, of defecting to the Dark Lord.

* * *

_A.N.: It's back! I'm contemplating refurbishing and re-posting this story. Thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 2

EXPLANATION

The Dark Lord stood on the elevated dais and leveled a steady look down at the woman before him, conducting as eviscerating an assessment as he possibly could under the scrutiny of his fascinated followers.

For the benefit of the court he spoke into the silence. "You do not appear to be a gibbering lunatic, therefore we must rule that out as an explanation for the presence of the Phoenix's Flame in my Court. And if you reject membership in the Order, you're not offering to take up Snape's old job as our double agent. So what, then, brings you to our dark, evil lair?"

Ominous laughter echoed through the chamber. Whatever else this morning's strangeness portended, the Dark Court clearly would be supplied with theater of the highest order, and Death Eaters craved excitement.

Had they seen what he had with his single glance into her eyes, they would have been greatly subdued—save the few who were Dark enough to instead be entranced, or aroused. The Dark Lord used his powers to read the souls of all he met, and had seen the souls of more mentally disturbed people than the great founders of the field of Legilimency could have dreamt of, those centuries ago. A job hazard peculiar to Legilimens Dark Lords, he supposed. Ms. Weasley didn't have the howling, whirling insanity of some he'd seen. Instead there was a sense of a mind ordered 90 degrees off balance, looking at the world askew. Several of the men in the room with them shared her misaligned state of mind, but the idea that the youngest, female Weasley could be among their company… well, the implications of that revelation ensured the Dark Lord shaded the truth, speaking out loud to his Court.

And, of course, the façade was well-crafted. Her face gave away little – she just dropped her gaze at his sarcasm, and answered steadily. "Because a 'dark, evil lair' owned by The Darkest Lord the world has yet known is far more likely to be a place of security, of peace and joy for me, than anything the Light has to offer, in my experience."

A few of the audience jerked in surprise. Not only was that an astonishing statement from the Weasley wench, but it was a rare Death Eater who would avow that they found their Lord's Court to be a place of 'peace' or 'joy.'

Voldemort frowned, raised an eyebrow. He had honed in on the final phrase…"Your experience you refer to would be the lair where you nearly died six years ago?"

This time she raised her head, a strange look crossing her face. "Yes… the Chamber of Secrets…"

When she trailed off, Snape muttered in a stage whisper to the Dark Lord, "Perhaps not so sane, after all?" Voldemort shrugged off the theatrics, still seeing what else he could glean just with his stare. In truth, he'd been inclined to suspect insanity well before that startling look into her eyes.

The Death Eaters nearest the dais, who heard the comment and snickered, clearly concurred. Ginevra, however, also overheard, as Snape had obviously hoped.

She, too, laughed. Smiling, she pointed out, "I'm not the one who diagnosed myself as so being."

"Right," he snorted. "Well then, Flame, Ms. Weasley, Mistress Madness, what-have-you, tell us what security, happiness, you found in the Chamber that you are bold enough to seek from myself and my Court?"

She bit her lip, and seemed to shiver—and not at the bite of impatience in his tone. "I came away from the Chamber knowing much more than I did before Tom Riddle found me," she started, but her voice was shaky now.

Voldemort wondered what it was about his last sentence that shook her confidence so much. If he didn't get more substantial answers from her, he'd prefer to have some sort of key like that to break her down.

But she continued, "I learned plenty about magic, enough to be among the top students in my year. I learned a great deal about the powers of my pureblood heritage. I even learned a few useful tricks about the castle. But I learned the most about Tom Riddle. From Tom Riddle, I learned what magic really meant… what passion meant…" Catcalls and lewd laughter erupted around her, seeming to startle her. She was able, however, to use the jeers to steel herself from the tears she'd seemed close to shedding.

"Now, now," Voldemort admonished, raising a hand for silence. "Matters of the heart," he paused ironically, "are nothing to be mocked. Although I must confess, I never heard anything about my younger self romancing you during the time you were possessed by him – or are you going to tell me it was a partnership? You attacked Mudbloods whilst out on dates?"

That last piece of sarcasm cut her deeply enough that she finally erupted into the outburst he'd hoped for – though not quite in the way he'd imagined. She flung herself back to the floor, dry-eyed but gasping through sobs: "When Tom died, I knew I'd find no one who'd believe me. But Lord, please, membership in your world is the greatest of all the things I was robbed of in the Chamber, and hope to regain today in this Court – I beg for the chance, at least, to win your favor, your praise. I so want to serve you as I had before—before…" she collapsed completely. "But you have no memory of that, of course… and you'll abandon me… like you had to last time… like Potter did… but in your case, it is only fair… you are too good for me…"

He was fingering his wand now, concerned at the unexpected turns this interview was taking. It was… puzzlingly personal. He did not relent in his skeptical attitude towards the girl, though. "And if I let you serve us, what would you do? Concoct plans, brew potions, develop spells? Hah. You were a leader in Dumbledore's Army, you fought us at the Battle of Hogwarts, and you have spent the last year in the Order's war camp, earning yourself the title of Phoenix's Flame, - "

Ginny broke in, annoyed. "Those titles are all meaningless party favors, and I –"

"Ah," Voldemort interrupted silkily, "But what about your more meaningful title? Your title as Potter's deepest, truest love?" Something like a chill came down on the room and hairs on his neck and arms stood up. He pushed on, because he had already noted the lack of adornment on her hand. "You renounced your ties to the Order, the Light, all that – well and good. What of… your engagement to my dearest enemy?"

Annoyed was now completely inadequate in describing the fury before him. She spat, literally, on the floor in disgust. "Love. Love is the _least_ likely description I've ever heard! That son of a bitch was just a horny bastard who thought he deserved everything he ever wanted, since he's so _sad_ and _lonely_ and _orphaned_. But he's too selfish of a hypocrite to value everything everyone gives him. Anything. Even… - He can't appreciate – he just _uses _everyone around him, careless, like we're tools ordained by fate for his use." She was sobbing as she finished her bitter assessment, but after a moment was able to calm herself. When she spoke again, she was no longer crying, but she was quite plaintive. "I came here because I believe in the cause of purebloods, and because I don't fear the Dark Arts. But mostly I came because the Slytherin attitude towards love and pleasure, no matter how dark or twisted or selfish, is so much more honest than Gryffindors'."

The bitterness returned to her voice: "They pretend to be so _pure_ and _noble_, but they've got the same base needs as anyone else, and all the nobility in the world doesn't stop them trying to force me to—" she very transparently revised what she was about to say on the fly, " force everyone to follow them!" In yet another mood-shift, she was calm, business-like. "Force – force, compulsion, is one thing I can't stand. But outside of that – My Lord, to be yours again is my sweetest dream."

"But failing that, if you would accept me into your Court, I will do _any_thing you ask… for anyone… I am most willing to obey my Lord and _serve_ his followers…" She seemed to be struggling to adopt what she clearly considered an alluring pose, and certainly the squirming among the ranks indicated she was succeeding with some. Perhaps it was only the flare of mingled anxiety and calculation he saw in her eyes, that kept Voldemort from being allured as well. He swept a hand toward the babbling crowd, shushing the murmurs.

Theatrically, he then appeared to ponder, thoughtful finger to chin. "That is a remarkably generous offer, and I am… confident the Court appreciates it." Muffled lewd laughter punctuated that statement. "But we still stand with the unresolved question of why you fell in love with a Dark Wizard who was possessing you, and tried to kill you and your classmates?"

Ginerva sighed, her story unfolding with an air of having been repeated many times over, in preparation. "I knew almost the second week that term I was in possession of a dark artifact – but I was charmed by my friend Tom, and in the manner of overly-curious girls everywhere, wouldn't put down what was clearly not something a first year should have messed about with. Besides, this wonderfully caring, older boy was offering me such excellent advice as I struggled through my first year… teaching me more about magic, about how to handle my classmates and dormmates…" she continued forth bravely, though her ears glowed red, "even how to handle puberty." She looked up, ready to defiantly glare at the shadows lining the walls, but the Dark Lord kept her gaze instead. Her face melted back into pathetic pleading as she continued, "In turn, he confided certain things to me – about himself. He told me the story of his own family – his mother, an heir of Slytherin…" the Dark Lord felt a curious smile steal over his face, she couldn't mean- "and how he obtained a powerful relic, one that guaranteed him something… well, I daresay, my Lord, I should stop there?"

"Quite a story, I would say." In truth she had answered nothing about the how or why of her turning from Light to Dark, while ensuring that now, he absolutely must keep her here, to determine what she knew of his greatest secret. He suppressed an urge to grit his teeth. "And somewhat believable – provided the rest of it holds up to standard. Now, about Potter –"

Lucius stepped forward from his place in the line along the wall. "I find it unsatisfactory. As you know, my Lord, having been –"

The Dark Lord hissed, "Having been the perpetrator of such a remarkable disaster? Having showed our hand to that unlamented old dead coot? Having ensured the destruction of one of my precious relics…"

Lucius cowered briefly, but seeing no immediate spell-casting in his direction, advanced out into the empty middle of the room, toward Ginny, and blustered on: "Why, then, was the world told that Riddle removed you to the Chamber to kill you? 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever,' I believe it was?"

Ginerva continued facing the Dark Lord alone, but showed a marked increase in confidence, handling Lucius's accusations. "Though you, no doubt, are unfamiliar with any classics, the idea of faking the deaths of a pair of fated lovers and escaping for a life of happiness is not a new one, I assure you."

"Lovers?" Lucius snorted, but the Dark Lord waved his wand and the man clenched his lips and fists, and resumed his place in the pack along the wall.

Seeing she was meant to elaborate, Ginerva continued. "We loved each other, and wished to finally be together, physically…"

Sure he had finally found a point to vindicate him, Lucius burst out – "How, if you were dead?"

Ginerva finally faced him. "Surely, you don't question that my Lord " (Lucius twitched at the possessive) "would have some plan in place?" Returning her gaze to a point somewhere near the Dark Lord's feet, she continued, "I am afraid, my Lord, that this is another point on which your interests demand I remain silent."

The hair on his arms stood on end every time she circled around what his interests demanded her silence on, what it was she kept refusing to discuss. He steered the Court's attention away from that topic. "This is turning into Malfoy's word against Ms. Weasley's. We all know that letting those two clans battle it out will have us sitting here sometime through the next millennium… so." He beckoned Ginny closer to his dais. "Ms. Weasley, if you would stop staring abjectly at the floor and _look at me?_" he breathed, leaning the force of his mind against hers as best he could without eye contact. Those soft, forceful words drew her head up. With a cocky tilt of her chin, she looked him straight in the eye, not flinching as, this time, he probed firmly enough that she knew he was there. (But she would be used to it, after all, he mused to himself.)

"Are you telling us the truth, Ms. Weasley? Why are you here?" he breathed, in a gentle enough tone. He knew that his Death Eaters were rustling nervously, but ignored it – a show of his omniscience always made a strong impression on the pack of cowards.

Beneath his pressure, her mind blossomed, open to him, and soaring joy flooded him – astonishing – hers? His? As he settled his thoughts in a net over her own, he realized, both. Hers, _that she had him back, she'd never thought… the one way she could prove, that he'd believe…_

And his, responding to her unholy joy at his presence, but also… something else. The sensation escaped him because as soon as she realized he was present, paying attention, she was bombarding him with images, in a crude, untrained, but effective way:

_A bare-chested, dark haired boy, drying the tears of a small, fragile-looking girl in a ratty nightgown… joking with her and holding her… pressing his open mouth to taste hers… muttering to her "Soon, soon… when I'm not a Horcrux's shade…"_

The word he'd treated as taboo echoed clamorously in his ears, while the improbability of his teenage self cosseting a silly young girl danced before his eyes. But she was already pressing a second image into its place – not memory, but desire, wish:

_No boy, now. A throne. Somewhat informed by her brief impression of his Court room. Fuzzy. But him – clear as daylight, above her. Piercingly red eyes whose heat she basks in. No one around. A beckoning finger. Shuffling on knees, she approaches. Her head the height of his lap, discreetly blocks the scene, as his hand on the back of her neck presses her face to his lap, where his robes are falling open, and before zealously obeying, she flashes him a rapturous look…_

He blinked, breathed deeply. Her verbal circling around her reason for defecting had led him to expect that he, himself, was her motivation for turning, but… that… "Well. Your story seems accurate enough –"

Lucius sputtered until some wiser man shoved him hard enough to shut him up, and Voldemort could press on, "- But a defector usually brings some kind of token of good faith. Have you a gift for me?" Nothing and no one could press him to call what she'd just showed him an appropriate good faith present. And she had to realize she needed something real, to be politically safe in his nest of vipers and vice.

The young woman bit her lip, but made her decision swiftly. "Theodore Nott has been passing Pot- passing the Order information for a year, and to Dumbledore for two years before that."

"Bitch! Slut!" Nott screeched from the far end of the room, (He had always lurked in the corners, hadn't he? the Dark Lord realized,) and he launched himself at the girl. Her wand was drawn, though, and she cast the disarming curse just as he began to scream "Avada -!" His wand flew into a wall, and it was short work for Crabbe and Rodolphus Lestrange to pin the man's arms behind his back, drag him to the middle of the room, and force him to his knees.

"I won't bother asking you if this is true," hissed the Dark Lord. "Your reaction conveniently confirms it all. Now, what did you tell them, and why?" Before the man could possibly answer, the Dark Lord cast Crucio at him.

The Court watched in silence as Nott writhed, screamed, fell silent, and finally, with ragged breaths, found strength to answer. "My – my Lord, they told me they'd keep my son safe – I promised his mother the boy would never have to face the dangers I face – when all the signs pointed to your return, I came to Dumbledore and struck the deal. I told them about the rumors you'd left Albania, after you returned, told them about your pact with the werewolves, about this fortress – not your personal fortress, my Lord, never that, but about the strength of your men, patrols of guards… all they couldn't find out when Snape left their company…" He was growing hoarser, more desperate. "My boy, my boy. I just wanted him safe." Crabbe and Lestrange had long since dropped his arms in disgust.

Voldemort issued another Crucio and nodded for Snape to disarm Weasley, since she had after all drawn the wand the Dark Lord had so courteously let her keep. She ducked the Potions Master's stern gaze and dropped her weapon into his hand.

As Nott's screams wound down, Voldemort regarded the broken figure scornfully. "Your son is an adult. In fact, he has been for a year now… he is also a noble-minded young man, with excellent notions of pureblood pride and family duty. As such, when he became an adult last year, he presented himself for Marking, and has since been assisting Draco Malfoy on our London project." He spoke with calm reasonableness.

Reason had fled Nott, however. "I – I –" he stammered.

Voldemort, in a tone silky with deadly anger, supplied, "You betrayed all your loyalties? You turned away from everything you taught your son to honor? You claimed to love him even though you never spoke to him, never knew what he was doing?"

The man, if he had been broken before, was destroyed now. "I… beg… my Lord… you understand – a mistake – just wanted – please, show mercy?" he babbled frantically as the Dark Lord rose and aimed his wand.

"You should have trusted your Lord and your fellow Death Eaters, not a pack of Mudblood loving traitors to the name of magic itself. And you should have helped your son become strong, not," he spat the word, "_safe_! As it is, this is mercy – mercy that your son will never see the wreck his father has become. Avada Kedavra," he said almost mildly, and the man collapsed in the burst of green light. Immediately, Crabbe and Lestrange returned, hands under Nott's body's shoulders, and hauled him out of the room.

Attention returned to Ginny now that the dramatic scene she'd caused had unfolded. "So she stabbed a fellow spy, a piece of shite Mudblood-loving worm, in the back, so what?" Lucius demanded. "She's a Weasley, a Gryffindor, a blood traitor. She can't be trusted. Even more so after she flippantly turns over an agent to us. No loyalties to anyone!"

Voldemort met the girl's eyes. No remorse, there, for the death she'd caused, though she was clearly not happy to have witnessed it. But also – when she stared back, looking slightly haunted, he caught a flash of Nott, firewhiskey in hand, then vicious pinches, protests, grappling in the dark behind a tent, his thick knotted hands... Can't stand the use of force, indeed. "Malfoy, spy threats are none of your concern. You should be glad they aren't, because missing a double agent of Nott's caliber is criminal. And so… Rookwood." The man stepped forward, dismayed. "Rookwood, take Ms. Weasley to the dungeon – for her safety. Treat her as befits a young witch of pure blood." As the pair headed toward the door, he added, "Report back here when everyone has left."

After the shivering man led his charge out, Voldemort ordered, "Continue," and Snape resumed his place in the center of the room, recapped the preparations necessary for beginning their plan, and called out the men he wanted with him in the conference room in five minutes, "if it pleased the Dark Lord." Voldemort agreed that it did. They filed out. The remaining Death Eaters waited to hear the last piece of business, a scheme of Macnair's, which involved cultivating Lethifolds as assassination tools. The man gruffly noted several sites where the Department of Magical Creatures suspected Lethifolds were lairing.

Voldemort rose, gathering his poison-green robes around him. "We will certainly retain this idea, work it into our future plans. I am pleased with the schemes and plots of my Death Eaters." Lucius and Macnair tried not to preen. Lucius failed. Before the Dark Lord swept out of the room, he added, "Such loyal work will be well-rewarded, I am quite sure." As he'd hoped, the last look around the room showed that all his men were contemplating the possibilities of that statement, in light of the Weasley girl's offer.


End file.
